From Me To You
by Passionworks
Summary: Zhaozula contest entry for TrueThinker. True love is only written, not spoken. It can come in many fonts and tones, but the meaning is still the same... Rated for nonviolent sexual content and mature implications.


**Author's Note: I have needed an outlet for writing another Zhaozula fic for quite some time now, and one popped up in the form of a contest entry from the one and only, TrueThinker. I should have saw something of this nature coming, considering I have been pretty up to date on her modern AU's as of recently, but, the random joining message in my Yahoo! was quite nice to see.**

**So, I suppose the details are rather important: contests require such nomenclature. Here's what I know (and this is all taken from TT's profile):**

**The contest is in celebration of an important event in her story, 'The Best I Ever Had.' Here, Zhao Isaacs and Azula Hamill are to be wed in modern AU style. The gossip is that Zhao, a math teacher, is actually marrying she who was once his former student. Their wedding is scheduled for June 3****rd****, or the day this contest is due to end. We entrants are the guests of honor at the Zhaozula party; how I am excited to be a part if it!**

**TrueThinker has quite the reward system. Written prizes and even artwork! And, TT, even though I said (and you have seen) that I have some skill in drawing Azula, you won't see me drawing her any time soon, I am afraid. I have too much school artwork to kill myself over, including a graded piece in my art class that I didn't even finish (still got a 98 percent though, but that's not the point –I have to get it done nonetheless)… I shall write something for you instead. If the clouds can finally clear on my homework load and I can finish what I have yet to finish, then maybe you'll see a piece of artwork from me (but consider that a sort of, for lack of a better, more appropriate phrase, distorted reality).**

**So, how in the heck do I go about writing an original Zhaozula story? Well, I stick to the series' plotline and have Zhao killed –as usual. That's the only bit of information I can tell you; the rest comes with reading on and seeing for yourself.**

**This is looking to be a multi-chap, so, if you readers are interested, please send subscriptions!**

**I wish you all great enjoyment in reading what commences!**

From Me to You

By: Passionworks

Part One

The two of them have performed this ritual so many times that it seems almost commonplace. Commonplace, like a female canine searching for the opposite sex every time she enters estrus. And, yes, a pattern to this practice exists. She seeks him on certain nights. He, the same. When loneliness lurks. Or lust, desire.

There is a union of these two souls: hers lingers, his is due to depart, but for a brief moment, there is a sort of togetherness that does not mind the fact of imminent separation. Imminence is an inconvenient measure; its undefined duration is ignored for the time being.

Together, their bodies attach at the heart and become one. Their toned flesh further promotes the illusion of blending. Her raven hair falls down her face like a silken pool splitting at the crescent peak to his chest, the gleaming shoreline. Each perfectly cut tress hangs from her part the way sanity dangles from a thread.

In truth, the two of them share a sort of madness. With each meeting, they drop a cell of sanity. If the wise had any words for such an attraction between them, then the romance would have crumbled the moment it first flickered.

But, here it commences, building upon itself, layer after endless layer. The plot thickens like a mystery novel; the pages turn but never does the tale end…

Until the breaking point, of course: when the climax begs for an outlet.

He rises from the bed, flipping the tinted sheet to his feet. The disturbance is like successive ripples permeating through a once tranquil river.

She senses something brooding. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"Soon, yes, but not at this hour."

"You seem anxious."

"I'm not the only one."

She changes the subject, finding his comment a bit too personal for further inspection. "How long will you be gone?"

He answers her with an intuitive glance, and cautiously cups his sturdy, calloused hand into hers. "You needn't to worry about the distance, my Princess. There will come a time for the war's end; it will no longer drift us apart."

"I don't worry for war," she snaps, somewhat too fiercely than necessary. She studies the aging lines of his face. "You and I both know, Zhao, that war should be regarded as the least of our concerns. It won't be long before my father discovers this. He has grown quite suspicious in the last few months."

Zhao, the admiral of the grandest navy in the Fire Nation, takes a strand of her hair and unveils one of her golden, honey-colored orbs. He chuckles briefly upon seeing what she has been hiding from him: her blank expression.

"Do you honestly believe he'll reprimand us for this?"

"I do."

"Why would he?"

"Because," Azula states without mirth, "he has already planned a suitor for me. One of a certain rank and presumably just a few years my senior."

"What would be his definition of a 'certain rank,' Princess? Certainly I would be suitable, considering my position in his best navy. And I barely believe age is much of a concern. If I do recall, he even had plans to marry you himself."

"To further purify our gene pool, Admiral. Such a proposal is reasonable, if not necessary."

He sneers angrily, his face crinkling. "But that's absurd. It's incestuous, preposterous! If you had the authority to select your husband, would you honestly choose your own father over me? Think of the gossip that would stir, Azula."

The corner of Azula's lip tilts upward. She then spitefully presses an aggressive palm to his flaccid groin, placing effect on what she is planning on saying next.

"Of course I would choose you over Father; I already have, haven't I?"

The admiral smiles cruelly. "You have, yes."

She offers him an icy kiss. "And _if_ I had chosen Father over you, then would you be here with me this night?"

He gives in, exploring her mouth with his tongue. "I cannot argue with that point."

"I didn't think so," she moans coldly, her voice muffled by the kiss.

This act continues on for a good few minutes, but Zhao then departs from the embrace and traces the curve of her neck with the tip his finger until he reaches her breast. His eyes, steel-like and hard, never leave hers, and she feels the goose bumps tickle and chill her flesh.

Azula cocks her head, but there is no curiosity to this gesture; she is merely inviting him her lips again, but the admiral does nothing to reciprocate.

"Whatever is the matter, darling?"

"The morning sun is rising."

Her head turns to the window at the opposite end of the bedroom. She squints. The sky is like a warrior's painting –red as a field of the fallen. "Yes it is."

"I should be going."

The princess whimpers, "Oh, dear, you can spend another hour with me. One more round? Please, I insist."

"No, I must go. The ships are due to depart within the coming hours." He stirs from the bed, the mattress bouncing back into its proper shape. He stands at the bedside, nude, waiting for some form of a rebuttal from his mistress.

Azula rises as well, but still remains on the bed. She presses the flats of her hands into the mattress and stretches her cramped limbs. Flipping her hair back behind her with a swish, she says, "So, this is goodbye, then?"

"I suppose so," he utters matter-of-factly, "but my departure isn't forever, you realize."

"Things might be different between us when you return."

"Is that a warning?"

Azula appears hurt with this remark. "I don't want it to be."

Zhao manages to find his shirt within the tangled mess of forgotten sheets and discarded clothes. The fabric embraces his broad figure when he tugs it over himself, snuggling it tightly. The princess can easily make out his wonderfully swollen muscles, but she diverts her gaze and reaches down to grab his undergarment.

The young woman leaves the cloth dangling out of his reach. She gives him a fretful look, like a pup waiting for a bone.

"Just one more hour, Zhao?"

"As much as the thought entices me, Azula, the answer is still the same. I have to go. My men are probably waiting for me. Now hand that to me."

Fed up with his resistance, Azula emerges from the bed, fully undressed, and saunters over to him with the air of a _whore_ –high, mighty, and proud. It is as if narcissism itself drips from her skin. She drops the cloth she is holding, allowing it to fall to her feet. Her feminine hands shoot from her front and clench the collar of Zhao's shirt. She pulls his face to hers, their lips barely inches apart.

"My needs are far more important than those of your men, Zhao."

"You call your request a _need?_ I think you're desperate."

"Maybe I am."

"Oh, really?" His eyebrows rise peculiarly.

Azula suddenly relieves the tension building on the admiral's neck by releasing her grip on his collar. She crosses her arms, giving her breasts an unnecessary boost, and balances her weight on her right hip. Her lip puckers.

"Is this a game to you, Princess?" Zhao questions, his mouth formulating an ugly grimace. "Why should I delay both the war _and _your father's orders just to please you?"

She remains completely silent, so he turns on her. His back faces her as he makes his way toward the bedroom's exit, but before he can even reach for the door, she dashes in front of him and blocks the knob.

"Let me out."

She laughs absurdly. "Why should I?"

"I've already explained why."

Azula makes no form of movement. Frustrated, the admiral pins her to the door, the skin of his legs grazing hers.

"Now, what is this? Pinning me to the door?" she questions, and her curious hand gropes his lower region. "My, my, you really aren't a man of your word."

He elicits an odd moan and bites his lip with his front teeth.

Seeing him aroused, she says seductively, "Is a lack of judgment getting the best of you? You're half naked, Zhao. You can't leave this way. And since you are undressed, I suggest you come back to bed with me."

Flustered, Admiral Zhao grips her probing wrist; the hand had rudely continued to fumble about before this. Azula's frail hand grows firm; her skin reddens in his grasp, begging for circulation.

"For Agni's sake, let me go!"

It takes him a moment to consider her order, but eventually the squeeze relieves itself in the way suction does. Azula rubs her wrist like a mother tending to her distressed baby; she cradles it at her bosom.

Zhao swivels to where Azula had dropped his underclothes and weaves his legs through them, covering his groin. He sets himself on the bed and bends over to grab his crimson pants. In a silent moment, these are on him as well.

He stands. Azula meets him, pushing herself into his form. In the midst of this total quietness, a bird chips stridently and flutters from a branch and into the red morning.

"You're upset," she coddles finally, fondling his burly hand. A smile eases its way onto her lips. Not a suggestive smile –a warm, serene one. "Must you leave like this?"

A low bell tolls the hour. The admiral's ear perks at the noise. His eyes sparkle like twilight seeking shelter from daybreak.

"I'm not upset."

"I think you are. Do I make you mad, Zhao? I don't mean to; it is just that I'll miss your company dearly when you leave."

"Your desperation is invigorating."

"And your lack of it is irritating." She takes a step back from him, again crossing her arms. Her stoic frown mocks him.

"Do_ I_ madden _you,_ Princess?"

Azula finds this question impossible to answer honestly. She uncrosses her arms under her chest and taps his with dancing fingertips. "Don't be serious. I'm only teasing you. Messing with your mind. Enticing you…"

"You insist that I stay with you a little longer, but you know I can't. What would your father say if he found out the reason for my tardiness?"

"I'm a good liar, Admiral," she runs a dismissive hand through her river of black hair. "I can twist a tale better than anyone. He'll believe me."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He will."

"Answer me truthfully." Urgency defines Zhao's voice. Azula shutters.

"You think I'm lying?"

Something tells the admiral to discontinue this pointless argument –though its undertones are not pointless at all.

"Well," he utters jokingly, "you _are_ a good liar."

She chuckles right along with him and lowers her defenses. He is getting on her good side. "All right, fine. You've begged enough; I'll let you go."

"I knew I'd get to you eventually."

"No, I just know how much this mission means to you. Once you obliterate the Northern Water Tribe's army, perhaps the boost in reputation will give you reasonable incentive to marry me."

"Marry you?" Zhao questions with avid interest, placing his palm to his chin like a contemplative statue. "And I'm popular; you know that."

"Not with Father."

"True. I don't know exactly what I did to cause him to dislike me."

"You slept with his daughter, for one…" Azula emits a wonderful laugh at her own statement, a stunning laugh that shows off her molars.

"Anything else you can add to my repertoire?"

She ponders this. "I can think of a dozen things, all of which you probably know and don't wish to hear."

"Save them for the honeymoon."

Azula's eyes widen at the audacity of his words, but she suddenly understands that she really is not all that stunned after all. "Already planning ahead. What a man you are."

"Wouldn't your father be proud to know you wish to marry a man of my caliber?"

"Oh, Agni, you're being an egotist!" the princess playfully declares.

The symphony of dawn's rise is playing outside. Its tune is sweet, joyous, as if the earth is proud to pronounce that it has successfully given birth to new day.

Zhao is listening to the chorus –it is singing to him, begging him to enter it.

"You've held me up long enough, Princess."

"Yes, I do apologize."

Azula indicates her contriteness by allowing him to pass her –she gestures this by swaying her left arm –but he can plainly see that she is waiting for him to give her a better goodbye.

Zhao and the princess share a passionate kiss. It is both lustful and delirious, like a cliffhanger waiting to be salvaged. This is the climax –here, it exits.

"You will write to me often, won't you, Zhao?"

He sends his hands through her hair, hair as soft and silky as a velvet dress. "Yes, of course I will."

"And remember, I am owed both the honor and the pleasure the moment you return."

"The honor and the pleasure of that _last round_ you were speaking of?"

"Ha, you were paying attention after all."

"I'm observant, to say the least."

The brawny admiral ambles to the door and clutches the knob like a choke-chain. He is quite giddy to depart now –his moment of glory draws nearer and nearer.

"Zhao?"

The interruption stalls him; he turns himself completely around –Azula _does_ deserve his undivided attention after all.

The now nervous princess clears out her throat. "I wish you Godspeed."

Zhao nods and hurries to give her a final kiss –a simple peck on the cheek –but he is quick to make his full exit. With a quick stride, he is out the door.

The princess then hears her lover's descending footfalls thumping like little baby heartbeats. She is alone, and the door shuts with a rude slam, marking the conclusion of the final act…


End file.
